


no, you can't live in a car

by wasnt_my_intention



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Book References, Filipino Michael, Gen, Jeremy and Michael did not spend high school together, Jewish Jeremy, Only Rich and Jeremy have squips, POV Third Person, author is ironically not in college, yes Michael really did that
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-21
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-01-01 05:33:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12149679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wasnt_my_intention/pseuds/wasnt_my_intention
Summary: Jeremy is just really trying to make ends meet in college funds.He meets someone he may remember.Michael was just really trying to stay sane. But maybe going around and trying to steal cars wasn’t the right idea— especially when he meets someone he knows.Rating is for Rich’s use of language.





	1. Prologue

_“Rich set a fire and he burned Jake’s house down!”_

_“Did you hear about the party last night?”_

_“Haha, I wasn’t there, but I bet it was_ lit _.”_

_“Rich shouldn’t get so high for a tiny guy, huh?”_

 

Christ, it burns, and it’s so suffocating. Lungs straining, throat tearing apart, his face… wet? And his side, _God_ what did he do to deserve this.

The teasing flames of heat didn’t seem to let up as he ran through the house. Was there anyone still in here? God forbid there’s anyone upstairs still. All the guys who were upstairs left after climbing over each other to get photos of Veronica and J--

_Jake! You better not be upstairs, I swear to fu--_

A wave of nausea hit him like that pill of ecstasy, he was going to die, he messed up, you messed up Rich, so stupid, playing with the fire, he is--

Oh, he is so _d r u n k_.

Rich jolted awake, chest heaving.

His face was still wet, his side is bruising, and he could already feel the bile rising in his throat. His first instinct was to jump into action, but he decided against it after feeling his back crack.

His head was swirling, and he could feel the pressure on his temples already.

The last of the night's moonlight peeked through the thick curtains. The file select music of the Mario Sunshine on Jeremy’s GameCube hummed through the dim room.

It’s calming, familiar, and absolutely unfitting. Rich took in a shaky breath and pulled himself up from a blanketed floor.

No wonder his side felt like shit, he had fallen off the bed.

Now fully upright, he’s noticed that Jake was still doing okay, sleeping with his back pressed against the wall on the bed with a bag of Doritos in his hands.

It was Cool Ranch. Ew, food. Cool Ranch is good though, no matter what nausea says. He sneaked his hand in to steal a chip.

Rich looked down to the blankets twisted around his feet. Jeremy sat on the beanbag, head leaned back and upside-down in a position that _cannot_ be comfortable. A purple controller laid abandoned in his hand. He felt like he’d be sick.

_You will throw up in approximately 83 seconds, Richard._

Thanks and don’t call me that. What time is it, by the way?

_5:17AM. It will also be 68° outside with partial sun and 24% chance of rain in the evening._

Looks like this handsome mug will be spending this morning in the toilet bowl. Thanks for the weather too, little dude.

_Of course, Richard._

Calmly, he sprinted to the bathroom and proceeded to trip over the blankets onto his face.

_It may be closer to approximately 41 seconds until you vomit if you continue to fall on your side and face._

Yeah, thanks for the update, smartass.

Rich, slower this time, started to pick himself off the ground again. He took in a deep breath and let it out a bit too quickly when it hurt his side. A familiar voice behind him made itself heard in a way what was akin to a bird warbling, (choking) in your throat. It, too, sounded like how Rich felt: hungover.

“Whu-whaoerre’s ya goin-”

“Jeremy, _please_ keep it down. I am going to literally throw up on you if you don’t.”

Jeremy’s neck popped loudly and Rich could hear some distinct mumblings (swears) underneath the crunch of the beanbag. Rich was beginning to wonder if he should have been a bit kinder, but he figured Jeremy would understand. Jeremy squinted and rubbed his eyes a bit. He jumped up a bit after realizing what Rich had said. Startled, but not all too surprised. Go figure. He whispered,

“Let me help you, I’ll get you something, uh just, just let tell me where it is, okay?”

Ughhh Jeremy is too nice. He doesn’t even live in the dorm, he just likes to give gifts and help out.

Rich almost opened his mouth to tell him where some pain-reliever was but felt saliva begin to flood his mouth. He instead pointed to the top drawer across from the television. Jeremy nodded and rushed over to the drawer to find the bottle of precious Advil while he dashed (stumbled) to the bathroom. He decided to leave the lights off because turning them on would be masochistic. This puke isn’t going to wait for him. Almost sliding, Rich kneeled onto the tile floor, gripping around the toilet bowl and grimacing.

He spat the saliva into it and waited for the hacking that would probably only mess up his ribcage more. Rich tried not to think about it.

 

_It seems to be taking an unexpected amount of time. I apologize for my inaccurate predictions, Richard._

 

You don’t say, Kermie?

 

…

It never came. He wished it did. Rich stole a deep breath in (he’s been doing that a lot lately,) and let it out in a quivering mess.

Note to self: don’t drink so much for a tiny guy. Guess some of those dicks were right. Also, stop taking deep breaths, your lungs feel like they’re on fire.

Here he was, good ol’ Rich keeling over in a bathroom while someone else tried to find stolen Advil from his sock drawer. Har, har.

A couple moments passed and although Rich didn’t know how much time it's really been, it was decided that Jeremy was taking too long finding those sweet pain relievers.

Do you take Advil when you’re sick to your stomach? Or was it Pepto Bismol? Either way, he didn’t have any real desire to spend money on it. There’s the BRAT diet, maybe? He’s rambling, but he didn't care. How can you help your stomach feel better when you need to use it to absorb medication? Maybe he should stop drinking in general? Jeremy doesn’t recommend it and Jake says it’s probably killing any chance Rich’s kidney’s had to survive. Doesn’t medicine also get flushed through the kidneys? He should just stop drinking. At this point, it was a habit, and wow that sounds bad with he put it into words. It was to just sleep at night, get the squip to be quieter, and let him just have his own head. So calming.

He's rambling.

 

Huh. Maybe he should just consider using weed. But then he really _would_ be a lightweight. Or was it called something else for weed? He couldn’t think of it.

He couldn’t really think of anything, actually. Jeremy was taking too long. Not that it’s really his fault, with how messy his makeshift wardrobe was, but Rich was still getting impatient. He should do it himself. Just get the pills and the pain goes poof.

Rich slowly stood up and moved to the sink, not looking into the mirror. He struggled around in the dark for a bit before finding a cup to fill with water. He should go see what’s holding Jeremy up. Maybe Jake woke up too? It’s possible Jer just fell asleep again; it wouldn’t have been the first time. He turned from the sink with the drink in hand and took a step toward the doorway.

Rich didn’t even make it out of the bathroom.

Jeremy materialized out of absolute darkness and death and all things horrible and now Rich is on the floor after slamming his entire body into this tall demon’s chest and-- oh actually this floor is quite cool and nice.

His side pulsed and screamed at him like a toddler, demanding him to not lay down on it on the lovely tile floor. Agreeing on his side’s… side, he knelt on the floor on his knees, slouched and felt sicker. He decided he didn’t want to look up at Jeremy. Rich thought he heard Jeremy saying something but he really couldn’t be too sure. He just stared at Jeremy’s crappy orange bunny slippers from Christine.

They looked endearingly ugly. Relatable, familiar, and homely, these shoes looked like the perfect shoes to walk about in a dorm and sit in a beanbag. Something was on his shoulder, shaking him gently. Huh, the bunnies are trying to communicate. Rich leaned closer. He was so tired. What if he slept on them? No, let’s listen to what they need to say.

“Rich, if you need to throw up, please, _please_ go over there and not here.” It said, the something on Rich’s shoulder stilling and the shoes turning to face him squarely. The lights flicked back on with a bright vengeance. Rich just hissed.

His brows furrowed. Mouth began salivating again. Yeah yeah, he still felt sick. He tilted his head up a bit to look the bunny slippers in the eyes. Opening his mouth, he prepared a genuine thank you to the kind slippers.

He puked all over them.

Mostly alcohol and mush it seemed. He hacked and sputtered onto the tile.

Jeremy won’t be happy about this, Christibunnies. Vomit doesn’t come out of fur slippers too well.

He didn’t want to move at all. Throwing up here was perfectly fine with him. It didn’t seem to want to stop, but like all good things do, it eventually did. His body shook with a final hurl, which was nothing more than a light spray of acid onto the orange slippers. At least the color didn’t change all too much. Still orange. Now it just has hydrochloric acid and Dorito mush on them. He didn’t register Jeremy whining and bemoaning his Christibunnies. Rich did, however, notice when Jeremy pulled up his shoulders and dragged him to the bathtub.

He mostly noticed this because of the _holy shit water all over my face and God save me it’s so cold, I hate this, I hate this, Jeremy you fucjjklisj traitoriadflknlk._

Jeremy stuck the showerhead into Rich’s face, his face a sympathetic but annoyed composure. If Jake wasn’t awake then, he was probably awake now, waking to the sounds of a large child shrieking in a bathtub, clothes soaked with water and puke.

Jeremy then actually turns the showerhead toward his own face for a moment, spraying it everywhere. He looked more awake now. He didn't look like he particularly cared that he made more of a mess and got his clothes wet. He gave a contented sigh, and then _ow ow it's in my eye why would you do that to me!_

Right before Rich thought he would die of hypothermia, drowning, cursing into the void, whatever his side was screaming, the showerhead switched off, and Jeremy just… left the bathroom.

Dude really? Leave a dude in ice-cold clothes in a bathtub? What the hell?! If he doesn’t get his -- oh, there he is. Jeremy came back into the bathroom with a shirt and a pair of boxers.

Now that he was looking around the bathroom, he realized that it was pretty, uh, wrecked. A bottle of Advil was in the sink and the water he filled earlier had rolled onto the floor at some point.

Damn Christibunnies.

Jeremy didn’t look too affected. His opened the cabinets underneath the sink and pulled out a towel. He walks to the bathtub and tosses it at Rich so that he could dry himself off. Rich gave a confused look before gripping the towel fully.

Jeremy closed the shower curtain and set the clothes on the corner of the tub. Rich was tempted to sit in his misery but he could feel his butt crystallizing, so he vetoed the idea. He began to take off the puke clothes and use the towel.

He didn’t really know what to tell Jeremy at this point. Thank you? Sorry? I owe you one? He dried his hair and pulled the towel away to see a bit of pink from the red hair dye bleed into it.

“... damn Christibunnies…”

Jeremy made a noise of confusion, a small hum asking for answers, but it was quickly followed by a chuckle of breathy laughter. Rich at this point made no efforts to defend his dignity as Jeremy snorted at him.

Silence fell after for a bit. Richard wanted to say something more, but words couldn’t get out his mouth. Instead, he put on the boxers, careful to not slip. Tenderly, as to not screw up his side even more, he pulled the shirt over his head. He could tell it was Jake’s from the way the neck of the shirt fell loosely, and through the way it reached his thighs. Jeremy was still quiet.

Rich could see through the curtain to see the way he was spacing out into the mirror. Poor guy. Rich felt the ice-cold water in his stomach now alright, a ball of sinking guilt. It wasn’t like he threw up on purpose, but still, Jeremy didn’t need this at 5 AM.

“I know you really liked those too. Christine will turn into Glinda from Wizard of whatever and kick my ass. I’m sorry man. Think I could pay for a new pair? Better not be Payless.” Rich coughed and wheezed a bit, the cold still sitting in his bones.

“... Huh? No, no, Rich. Don’t even worry about it. I was just remembering something.” Jeremy jerked out of his stupor and blinked in confusion.

“Would it be that one time at Jake’s when we thought it’d be a good idea to put red bull in our alcohol?”

Jeremy responded with a laugh. He started to shake his head. “No, no, nooo. That was, that was horrrrriblee, Rich!” He took a moment to gain some of his breath. “And, well, hilarious too."

He looked back into the mirror. "I was just thinking about, how, well, I guess you haven’t been the only one to throw up all over my awesome shoes.” Rich tried not to laugh. Had Jeremy ever had nice shoes? ”So I guess I was having a pleasant memory-lane drag race? In a way?”

“You’re having a good time remembering someone throwing up on your shoes, huh? That’s weird stuff Jer.” Rich pulled the shower curtain quietly and climbed out. Ugh, he puked all over the place. He couldn’t use his nose to smell but even his eyes watered at the vileness.

“You could say it was an accident, but he did it out of valiant heroism, so that’s gotta count for something, you know?” Jeremy had a faint smile on his face. Huh. Rich didn’t think he actually knew the guy Jeremy was talking about, which was odd because Jeremy didn’t really know many people before high school.

“Who’s this dude? I don’t think I know him.”

“Oh, it was forever ago.” Jeremy turned to him and looked at the floor. He sighed dramatically. “Oh, woe is me. Behold! V- Vomit! Everywhere I turn! Oh!”

“Alright Shakespeare, I’ll help too. Maybe you can tell me about this guy?”

Jeremy pulled some paper towels and wipes from the cabinet. He sorta laughed again and shook his head. (Rich's noticed that he's been doing that a lot. Is he nervous?) "I've already told you so many embarrassing stories, let me be, short-stack." He was teasing, but it was also the truth. "Maybe I'll tell you later? Let's clean this up first, dude."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! thank you for reading! This has been an idea that was stuck in my head for quite a bit, and although I don't have a ton of time to write it, I wanted to at least upload something so that I could feel accomplished with what I had so far. I love reading comments and criticism. I may overlook errors due to having no beta reader and being in high school ; . ; but I try my best! I must do it for my boys! 
> 
> thank you! see you in the next update!


	2. Rosé in the Jetta

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeremy needed to thank Jake and Rich for a lot, and someone finds a sweet new car deal. He deserves a big Toblerone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't expect this to be read, oh shoot.

So there’s this Jetta. It’s white and a model so old that when he went to the DMV, he couldn’t tell them when they asked. Apparently, it’s from 1998. And although it was a crap car, it was his crap car dang it— Jeremy Heere’s car with all the endearing charm of a college student’s fragile dreams.

From the stick shift to the crank windows, he really appreciated his little Juliet Jetta  _and yes he named it, shut up Jake, I wasn’t going to name it after you._ He’s had it since high school and drove out from New Jersey in it. If he’s being honest here, he would say that his car is almost like another friend in his life. It was always there through the good times and the bad.

 

Really, it would be fitting that he’d move in.

 

He didn’t want to at first. He, uh, still didn’t exactly want to. No offense to Juliet, but her seats aren’t _that_ comfortable. And the AC does occasionally leak onto your foot. But then he was late to his job at the mall for the eighth time… and then the bill was late too… and ugh, his landlord already didn’t like him. Jake's wasn't even mad; he was disappointed. Which, of course, is far worse than being upset. Rich sounded almost sad. It was concerning.

 

“No, you can’t live in a car. Are you serious, Jeremy?”

 

So. Jeremy was kicked out of his apartment. When he first told Rich and Jake, he faintly thought that they would try to smuggle him into their dorm. Jake was persuasive, trying to tell Jeremy that as an RA, people wouldn’t care if he slipped another person into his room. It was kind of him, but sharing a dorm with Rich and Jake constantly together sounded like sleepless nights for the rest of Jeremy’s college life. 

Rich was persistent, and Jake was ever so welcoming to Jeremy into their dorm. But Jeremy just needed to find a new job, get another apartment, and situate himself. He’d be fine. And Juliet was always there for him.

He did his work with Rich and Jake on his laptop, using their outlets and WiFi, and slept in his own car. It wasn’t a huge deal, and he’d wish they’d stop fretting over him. They even offered to help with his coursework--which was lowkey concerning for Rich to say.

Jake is taking Poli Sci so Jeremy felt guilty asking him for help. It’s hard not to when he’s always surrounded by books at any given time. Meanwhile, Rich is going into Kines and is somehow surviving multiple lab classes and sparing time to take Judo. Even still, he is insistent on helping Jeremy out.

 

Presently, however, he was about to be late to the one class Rich and he shared. He had to _pay_ someone for the seat he had in that 8 o’clock night class. You know those people who hog all the best class times and sell them for ridiculous prices? Those people.

Jeremy wasn’t sure if hell exists, but those people are going to find it. They are going straight there. No line. People will get out of the way for them, saying, ‘Yes, right this way please. We’ve been waiting for you’.

… Regardless. 

Rich is lucky Jeremy doesn’t like meeting new people in classes. Jeremy really doesn’t like this class--does Rich really need to know psychology?--  but he figures it’s a good thing to learn.

Scratch that; he likes psychology, just not the people it can tend to attract. He knows how much it sucks to feel like just a tiny experimental unit, something to be observed for its cause and effects. It’s why he’s majoring in how to tell people that they messed up, scientifically and with class. Well. Human Development and Family Studies. Same thing.

He ran out from his car, leaving it where it’s always parked in the lot. He seriously needed to pass this class because there’s no way he could afford retaking it. Financial aid only gets you so far.

_“Maybe those students who sell those class seats have the right idea, Jeremiah.”_

* * *

Jeremy slipped into the hall, and the professor didn’t seem to take much offense. The lecture already started, but Rich waved Jeremy over and made room for him. Almost before he sat down, Rich's brows furrowed.

“Just take the notes off my paper after, you look like death. Maybe nap?” Rich whispers but the volume was still basically the same as just talking. Jeremy didn’t have the heart to tell him that. He must have looked a bit rough if Rich was actually offering his notes though.

“Hmmph. I need to learn this. You take bad notes. Thanks anyway.” Jeremy replied.

Rich wasn’t having any of it. “Oh don’t be stupid. Sleep and I’ll just record the lecture then. I’ll send it to you later in the morning so that you don’t worry about it tonight. Trust me on this one, you look like you need it.” Rich pulled out his phone and set it against his water bottle to face the professor. Jeremy made a face and shook his head slightly. He wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway. Rich just gave him a look that said ‘try-me-bitch’.

“No, I really don--”

He whispered again, “Heere. Go take a nap. Hell, go for a jog. You look worse than I do hungover.”

Wow, Jer must have looked horrible if Rich was actually acknowledging his hangovers.

“I’m serious. If you won’t sleep-- and I know you can’t for shit-- then go out and do something to make you tired. Go work out. Streak in the courtyard, scream for an hour, get laid, I don’t care. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Jeremy groaned, but still tried to stay quiet. “I _paid_ for this class…! Lemme sit in it, dangit.”

 

Rich was silent for awhile. The professor was writing down a definition, and he was copying it down. He then turned to Jeremy and spoke quietly. “I’m not afraid to get… what did you call it? A Golden Gaytime? I’ll have a golden gaytime with Jake the next time you’re over. I’ll do it.”

Jeremy pitched the bridge of his nose as if it would prevent the current headache he had. “Dude, what?”

“You think I won’t? Did it before, I’ll do it again. If it meant you getting sleep, I’d have the absolute pleasure of going at it for--”

Well, Jeremy made up his mind quickly. He physically put his hand to Rich’s mouth to shut it up. “Thanks, man. I get it.” Rich gave a soundless chuckle. Jeremy continued, “See you tomorrow, I guess?”

He couldn’t see Rich’s mouth, but he could tell from his eyes that he was wearing a smug, satisfied smile. It made Jeremy roll his eyes, but it was well meant. Rich nodded his head at Jeremy’s words and waved him a small goodbye. Jeremy took up his beloved MacBook Air (Don’t ask how he afforded it. It was his pride and joy.) and his backpack and shuffled out of the lecture hall.

 

It was darker out now. Maybe nine o’clock? Jeremy had dumped his backpack in the trunk of his car and decided to take Rich’s advice. He was going to try to treat himself tonight. And if that meant watching Netflix on his phone and drinking cheap vodka from a water bottle, so be it.

He jogged to the dorms and went to Jake and Rich's room. Jake was facing his computer and didn't even turn his head when Jeremy opened the door. He just smiled and asked him where the short gremlin (Goranski) was, and gave Jeremy some Advil like the mom he was. 

“For the morning hangover.” he had explained.

Shoot, was he that obvious? Jeremy tried to not show his surprise as he went to their closet and crouched to their mini fridge. Right beside the fridge was a couple bottles of wine. They all had the labels taken off, and instead only had on a sticky note that read, ‘for wine aunt jer”. Gee thanks, guys.

He was tempted to not take one, just out of spite.

He caved and took a rosé. It was the smallest bottle and that’s all he needed anyway. Opening the mini fridge, he grabbed at a Code Red too. He’d probably want it in the morning.

 

_“I am still a little offended, you know.”_

So? I don’t need you telling me what to do at two AM, and I definitely do not want to hear statistics of car crime right as I’m about to sleep. You don’t leave me a ton of choices here.

_“Fair. Just tell me when you acquire a new goal or task for me, Jeremiah. I have asked before, however I will check once more. Would you like me to provide assistance in any classes yet?”_

Doing just fine, thanks. Leave me to sleep in peace.

 

Jeremy waved back to Jake as he left the dorms.

 

He ended up at his car around 10 pm with a paper bag of wine and Advil. His phone was fully charged, he had no classes the next day, and he was going to treat himself. Finally. He actually did feel a little more tired. Wanted to shower actually, but it’d have to wait until morning. The car handle squeaked as he pulled at the door and swung his body into the driver’s seat.

Let’s see here. Mountain Dew and Advil in the glove department, the wine stays in the bag, and the earbuds are… shoot. Where are they again? Ah, the cup holders.

He pulled them out and immediately stuck them in his ears. He groped for his phone in the dark and plugged the cord in. Ah, sweet, sweet relief. Time to binge watch Netflix. He tossed his keys into the cup holder.

After cranking down the window a bit to let some air in throughout the night, he climbed over to the back of the car to his small haven. Two lovely dark blankets and several fluffy, probably dirty, pillows awaited him in the rear seats of the car. He grabbed the wine and set it on the floor of the car for easy access. 

He stretched out as much as his tall lanky body could across the seats, and snuggled into the cushions. Using the crappier university wifi, it wasn’t easy to stream video without letting it load before playing, so he pulled up his lovely rosé while waiting. 

When he was raising the bottle to his chapped lips, he glanced to the driver’s seat. Dimly, he could see the outline of Keanu Reeves sitting with one of his legs lazily propped up on the other knee. His shin clipped through the steering wheel.

It looked in the rearview mirror back at Jeremy. Jeremy wasn’t sure how he managed to have a reflection, but he gave a half-hearted smirk at it anyway. The Squip had hardly enough power to create a form and yet did so anyway out of spite. Jeremy gave his usual nightly goodbye.

Nighty night Alexa.

It pried its eyes open just enough so that Jeremy could see the unnatural blue irises. _“Motor vehicle theft is one of the most common forms of theft in most universities.”_

Love you too, Cleverbot.

He watched as the Squip leaned more on the back of the seat. The cushions didn’t creak like they normally would.

 

Jeremy turned his head back to his phone to see a lovely loaded episode. He raised the wine bottle to his mouth again, looking back into the half-opened eyes of the reflection. As he drank, the form glitched before slowly turning to static and losing shape.

It never stopped being strange to see Keanu Reeves disappear from the legs up. Static climbed from the bottom up; particles flew and fizzed away from existence silently. Its eyes were usually always last to completely fade. Tonight however, it closed its eyes as it left, leaving only a pleasant face as its last visual.

 

_“Goodnight Jeremiah.”_

 

Jeremy turned back to his phone and curled up to it. He turned on his side to face the back of the seats and sipped the wine. He deserves a big Toblerone. Guess for now he can just guzzle this rosé.

 

* * *

So there’s this Jetta. It’s white and so old that not even he knew what model it was. It stayed in the lot in the same parking space for, well…  he actually hadn’t seen it move in the past week he’d been watching it. 

It’s at the point where he’s thinking there’s a chance of it being abandoned. It’s back windows are tinted and it’s not exactly the nicest, but a car was a car.

And tonight, one of its windows were left open, _and_ it was a crank one too. It must be his lucky day. He even had the tools on him to do the job.

The lights of the parking lot shined softly on the white little car. Hardly any other cars were there, which wasn’t too surprising considering it was around four o’clock in the morning. Slowly, he checked under and over, around and behind himself for any other people in the lot. After seeing nothing, he was satisfied that the coast was clear.

Pulling up on the hood of his red sweatshirt, he walked quietly, almost casually, up to the car from behind. 

He waited a moment, listening to the silence of the night. Only crickets and a few stray cicadas sang under the artificial lights of the streets. While walking to the driver’s seat, he swung his a starry backpack around and pulled out a mangled wire coat hanger.

So he wasn’t a Pinterest mom. Sue him. But it got the job done.

He fished it through the open window and lowered it to where he could feel the winding crank. Slowly but surely he used the hook of the hanger to roll the window down.

Every once in awhile, he would stop to listen for any sound from the car, but it was still silent.

When the window was finally down, he carefully climbed into the car through the opening. 

He didn't do this kind of stuff often, so he wasn't too sure how to feel at this point. Should he feel numb? Guilty? Excited? The first time around, it was almost thrilling, a crime of thought out, tedious passion. Now, he wasn't too sure. He didn't feel the crash of guilt and uncertainty this time. Maybe because this car was already abandoned? He took a moment to just breathe in the car. Had he been holding his shoulders that tense the whole time?

He was asking a lot of questions. Whoops.

It wasn't completely silent in the car. There was the small hum of the wind outside and the constant song of aforementioned crickets and cicadas. It was calming. There was a pleasant, faint smell of wine, but it wasn't too strong. This car would sell if he fixed it up a bit.

If anything though, he feels like there was no motive for taking the car other than that it was his... thing. But was it his  _thing?_   Wow, that sounds vague. Great job Mikey. 

The longer he stayed in the car, the more he liked it. It was... homely. This was, in fact, a dingy car. It was a car that was humble though. It didn't overshot its worth, but it also didn't underestimate it. Like a friend. 

He still liked his moped better. But hey, it was a pretty neat car.

He reached into his backpack for some tools to hot-wire this thing, but as he turned to it, he saw keys in the cupholder.

What?

He picked them up and looked at them. No way. No way in hell.

He put them into the ignition and turned. The engine rumbled a bit before purring.

Excuse the language but _holy shit._ No way.

There was just a free car chilling out here for weeks.

He gently put the backpack in the passenger seat and fixed the side mirrors a bit before shifting into reverse. He tried his best to stay quiet and not burst into a grin like a madman. Before pressing the pedal, he looked into the rearview mirror.

He let go of the wheel like it burned his hands, and his breath caught. His heart dropped to the floor. Heck, it stopped.

Holy shit, there was a body in the back. This car was abandoned because it had a body in the back.

Oh my God. Oh my God.

He wasn’t going to get arrested for car theft, he was going to be arrested on suspicion of murder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope to see you guys at the next chapter! I'll be editing as I go along, but I'm always open to comments pointing out any flaws. 
> 
> thank you!


	3. oh shoot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's been a year and to be honest I don't know BMC as well as I used to, but I've had this chapter for awhile and never got around to posting it. This fanfic is almost a way of venting to me, and I feel like there should be a small disclaimer: I am flying by the seat of my pants. Regardless, I hope whoever reads this enjoys it! I have a lot of fun writing the dumb shenanigans these characters get into.

Breathe.

 

_ Breathe. _

 

Okay.

 

Opening his eyes, (uh, when did he close them?) Michael breathes in the air as quietly as possible. Nothing has changed. It will be alright. Nothing has changed. You are still safe. No one is calling the cops. Breathe. Everything is the same. Nothing has changed.

 

And yet, when thinking this, he realizes he had felt reality jolt into place for moment.

 

Really, this is the perfect sign that he should stop doing this…  _ his _ thing. Maybe. At least for awhile. 

 

His hands are shaking in midair and his eyesight is almost hazy. He hasn’t felt this in a long time. Of course this has never happened before during his little escapades, but then again he’s never dealt with anything more than… well, this. 

 

He never planned on going farther than car-theft. And he definitely did not plan on adding corpse disposing on his résume. 

 

Slowly, he turns the keys back and takes them out of the ignition. Back into the cup holders they go. Quietly. And trying not to let the shakiness of his stupid hands make excess noise. 

 

Deep breaths. Think. It’s okay.

 

Movement catches his eye. Heart attack would be too harsh of a word but God does he understand it. He feels it in his soul, man. 

 

He feels more stupid though as he sees it was only a lil’... Hawaiian Hello Kitty doll. Just doing a little wiggle dance on the dashboard of the car. Didn’t notice it before. Cute. But weird. He’s starting to wonder about the owner of this car. 

 

Owner of this car.... Were they the murderer? Or just an accomplice? Maybe… the victim? He didn’t have the heart to look back into the rear view mirror again. He knows it’s inevitable. But at least it wouldn’t be a surprise the next time. 

 

Okay so before he saw basically a lump of blankets. Maybe he overreacted. Maybe there’s no body. Maybe it’s just… clothes. Or alcohol. It does smell like wine. Cheap wine though. But classy. Rosé? That doesn’t even make sense. He doesn’t recognize it—his parents must have never had it. Would it be covered with a blanket though? 

 

Yes. Excellent deductive work. We all know that people cover their alcohol with blankets. Duh. Whatever. Sure.

 

Michael decides that he could hold up on whatever banter he had in his head. Right now, he had to figure out if he could really steal this car or not without getting charged with manslaughter.

 

He turns his head to the back of the car, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. Yes, there really is a blanket and the lump of a body. Great. Anything else to note? No? No. Fantastic. 

 

He’s going to die. He should have worn gloves. He feels like he’s being punished for making fun of the criminals that do a horrible job and get featured on… on Buzzfeed Unsolved. Or Law and Order. Heck, the news. Now he feels like he can never judge again. Everyone makes mistakes in the workplace, even criminals. At least on Buzzfeed, the crime is legit still unsolved.

 

And even worse, stressed-college-student-Mikey wasn’t going to be caught in a crime of passion. Oh no. He was going to be caught with a  _ premeditated _ crime. He brought tools! He thought this one out! And he was going to be caught for  _ murder?!?  _ He’d be a laughing stock! What a stupid guy, they’d think! Michael Mell who couldn’t even wear gloves to a stupid crime scene! Jesus Christ! The other prisoners would mock him! 

 

The blanket shifts suddenly, and so does Michael’s heart—straight to his throat. The cloth hums and groans almost inaudibly before settling back into stillness.

 

_ ohGoditsazombieandimgoingtodieandicannotbelieveimgoingoutlikethi- _

 

Logic socks him upside the head. Zombies don’t exist, silly. Think a bit before panicking. Good idea brain. 

 

So he did.

 

_ ———heavenstobetsy, they’re alive and can sue me in goddamned court and now I’ll actually serve time and oh God what will my parents say about me now do you think they’ll visit me in jail? they don’t even visit now, what are you saying Michael, and now that you’re going to jail, they’ll really never visit again and man he misses his brother and Nicole and just wanted to smoke weed in peace. he’ll miss so many people—even Duke and that one dude he played Salmon Run on Splatoon 2 with— _

 

The blanket shifts again to reveal a pale face and greasy brown hair. It was calm and emotionless, if a bit tired. A bit too relatable at the moment. 

 

His shoulders dropped a bit. A sense of calmness flooded Michael. He wasn’t sure why or how, but all he knew was the warm wave of relief that crashed threw him when he saw that face. Maybe it was because he saw the tired, hollow face of another student. Or because he knew this guy could never find a lawyer to prosecute him in court. Maybe both. 

 

Could it be pity? Sympathy? Michael didn’t like to think he gave that out. It’s not like pity got people anywhere. But he felt… a connection. Like, “Dude…same. Big mood.”

 

What an American Gothic concept of the typical college life. Sleeping in an old BMW Jetta. The smell of this cheap wine and a dancing Hello kitty toy. The greasy hair and ruffled appearance. He wasn’t sure how, but just seeing this guy’s face did a lot for him. He also wasn’t sure if sleeping in a car counts as University gothic.

 

He realizes he’s been staring into space for too long and blinks away his thoughts. Indeed, perhaps not pity. Concern? This guy doesn’t look like he eats enough. Or sleeps enough. Or… bathes enough. Just doesn’t care enough about anything about himself, really. Not to be mean, but he looks like shit. Yikes man. 

 

Well. Now he definitely can’t steal this car. 

 

Normally he’d be annoyed when complications come up or when it turned out the car didn’t even start. But this time around, he felt relief. Maybe guilt too, though. Had this guy not passed out in his own car, he may have found it gone the next day. 

 

Now… to get out of here. 

 

Michael has never sneaked out of a car window before. Only  _ into _ them. And he wasn’t too sure now if he was agile enough to get out the same way. And it wasn’t like he could just open the door and leave. Ugh, what a pain.

 

He (quietly, of course, with still some vague fear for his civilian life,) dumps his backpack out the window. Careful not to hit the steering wheel— heaven forbid the  _ horn—  _ he clambers out through the window with far less elegance than on the way in. Digging through his bag, he pulls out his lovely hanger again and gets to working on closing the window. He scrapes the side with the hanger until it hooks onto the window crank.

 

...Why isn’t this working? Oh, other way. Yep. 

 

The hook clumsily grabs and pushes at the crank until Michael could no longer fit the hook inside to attempt to close any farther. It left the window slightly open, just like how it was before he came. 

 

He let his shoulders sag in accomplishment. Truly, he didn’t really do anything that deserved the satisfaction, but eh. You take what you can get. Not getting charged with murder? Good accomplishment. Although, again, not exactly something you can put in your résumé. 

 

He feels something itching at him. Michael does hate giving pity. But useful pity is just helpful assistance under a different name, right? 

 

Making a hasty decision, he looks through his bag again. With relative ease, he pulls out his wallet. He stuffs a crumpled Jackson through the open window. God knows this mystery guy will want it in the morning. Funny how he was concerned about fingerprints but now he was just sticking his sweaty hands on the window.

 

The blankets seems to stay still, and the man under seems to be sleeping peacefully. The night around him appears to be his domain as the cicadas die down, and the lights of the lot flicker. Rightfully, Michael feels something gnawing on him again. He decides upon two things.

 

  1. He wasn’t going to do this…uh...  the whole stealing stuff for extra weed money anymore. He had enough to survive and he should be happy with that. Seeing this kid sleeping in his own car makes him feel like a royal dumpster.
  2. He needs to find out who this guy is.



 

Now, he isn’t sure how he’s going to do this. But at this point, he feels a bit of determination growing in him. Of course, stalking is an option. Still sort of a crime though, which he’s trying to avoid here. He figures that all he can do is ask around about a dude that owns the white Jetta with the Hello Kitty toy. 

 

He bends down to pick up his backpack. It’s almost as if his head is under a haze, a morning fog, as he mindlessly zips up his bag. Even after slipping through the window, his ears were still ringing with the forced silence and the rush of blood that coursed through him. Even the cicadas gave peace when he peers back into the back window. All he could see was a greasy haired mess, the blanket lifting and falling slowly with every breath, and the sunken face. 

 

He’s totally telling his LoLz chat buddy about this. 

 

* * *

 

_ Melloafterglow420 has entered the room _

 

_ greggers69 is currently playing Gary’s Mod _

 

**bichael:** _ aye you’ll never guess what happened this morning _

**mountainduke** :  _ lemme finish this brb _

**bichael:** _ so i was doing my car thing for the first time in awhile right _

_ straight up jumped into the seat and the keys were already in there _

_ then i see body in the back so i have to yeet out of there _

_ how wild is that???? Wtf _

**mountainduke:** _ wow that is so wild _

**bichael:** _ you could at least pretend to worry that i could have been charged with murder _

**mountainduke** :  _ eh _

_ ever since that one time with the dealer and the car chase, everything else looked normal _

**bichael** :  _ it was one time dude _

**mountainduke** :  _ uh, yeah, i said that it was one time didnt i _

**bichael** :  _ smartass _

**mountainduke** :  _ so y u telling me this again _

**bichael:** _ bc the dude in the back of the car looked like a student _

**mountainduke:** _ what he look like _

_ nice ass? _

**bichael:** _ u and ur one track mind _

_ well i can see y i thought he was dead at first _

_ didn’t look too good _

_ prob wasnt one of his proudest moments _

**mountainduke:** _ weve all been there _

**bichael:** _ def _

_ smelled like he drank himself to sleep too _

_ thats rough buddy _

**mountainduke:** _ thats an old ref and u kno it _

_ still, what u telling me for _

_ need me to find out who he is? _

**bichael:** _ well i dont need to know _

_ was sorta curious who i almost kidnapped though _

**mountainduke:** _ i need more deets than ‘he ded’ _

**bichael** :  _ white jetta from late 90s i think _

_ crank windows and a hello kitty dashboard toy that would have been cute had it not scared the shit out of me _

_ brown hair, white af _

**mountainduke** :  _ sounds like a lot of college kids to me _

**bichael:** _ wouldn’t say that hello kitty dashboard toy was a normal student thing but go off i guess _

_ who drinks their night away, passes out in their car, with rose no less _

**mountainduke:** _ commas? from michael? more likely than u think _

**bichael:** _ oh shut it im being serious rn _

**mountainduke:** _ i’ll look into it u whiny baby _

**bichael:** _ love you too jackass _

**mountainduke:** _ i’ll look into it, oh morally righteous friend of mine _

_ sounds like you overreacted tbh _

**bichael** :  _ uhhhh how is being concerned about being accused of murder an overreaction _

_ pretty sure it condones the concern my dude _

**mountainduke** :  _ just saying _

_ I’m gonna get back to streaming _

**bichael** :  _ aight _

_ gnight _

 

Michael looks at the chat log for awhile longer before closing it. The sun isn’t out yet, but the sky is turning a familiar shade of a lighter blue. Right on time for his sleep schedule. He shuts his laptop screen down and goes up the basement stairs to get some water before passing out on an unmade bed. He has no clue what he’s doing anymore.

 


End file.
